The Journey Home
by the limit from 0 to 1
Summary: M!Dragonborn: After the battle with Alduin, the Dragonborn struggles to return home.


"Send me home!" he shouted with as much unrelenting force as he could despite the pain of his broken ribs. He could taste his own blood on his tongue as he shouted again. "Send me home! I want to go home! I made a promise! Fuck whatever you said, I made a promise."

"I have already informed you of the consequences," replied the Nord. "Very well. Goodbye, Dragonborn."

Magic surrounded him in an instant. Pain surged through his body, up and down his spine and all the way through to his fingers and toes. His body clenched as he screamed his lungs out. His spine was being pulled from his back. His limbs pulled from their sockets. His bones twisted in on themselves. But he had to make it. He had to get back home.

He had promised.

* * *

Loup woke up with a start. It was the same fucking dream again. His bones ached just thinking about his injuries. It had been almost a year since he had recovered, but sometimes the memories of the pain would creep back, like a phantom stalking behind him, clawing at his body.

It was barely dawn. The little birds of Skyrim had begun to wake and a few of them had begun chirping. There was no way he was going to return to sleep, plus now he had to relieve himself. Loup tried to be quiet as he stood up to stretch, as not to wake his traveling companions. But from the tired corner of his eyes, he could see his armored husky begin to wake as well, yawning and stretching its forelegs out.

"Morning Sceolang," Loup muttered. "Watch over the lad while I take a piss, okay?"

The dog made a small huff in reply. It wasn't exactly one of Loup's normal commands, but the dog understood its master and did not follow.

The Breton made his way a few paces from camp, far enough for some privacy, but close enough to respond to anything that should happen. He spotted a place that was good enough as any, and then loosened his breeches to take a piss.

By the Eight his back ached. It was part of the lingering pain from his injuries that was just exasperated by the fact that they had camped outside. Thankfully, Whiterun was close enough, and then he'd be able to have a hot meal and a warm bed. Hopefully they would be able to make it to Falkreath in a day so that they could stay at the inn there, too. Once business was done in Falkreath, no more sleeping under the stars, if all went well of course.

Morning business done, Loup made it back to the camp where the lad had begun to wake up too. By the way the Breton child was stretching his shoulders and back, he had the same experience with the ground as a bed. Sceolang stood up, wagging his tail, and began to lick the boy's face, causing him to smile and try vainly to push the large dog away.

"You okay, lad?" Loup asked. "Sorry we had to sleep out in the middle of the tundra. I should've gotten that room in Rorikstead instead of pushing on."

"I'm okay," Blaise replied, petting the husky. "I'm used to sleeping in places like this."

"I know, lad," Loup sighed. "But the reason I adopted you was so you didn't have to sleep in places like this anymore. Kids deserve a warm bed. They shouldn't have to sleep in a barn or any place outside."

"Did you not have a bed growing up?" the lad asked.

Loup was a bit taken back by the question. It should have been an easy enough question to answer: a simple yes or no; but try as he might, Loup ran into the same problem he'd been having with a lot of questions posed to him.

He just simply could not remember.

More than a year ago, the Greybeards had found him up on the Throat of the World, severely injured and barely alive. They brought him back to health, and although his body had recovered, his mind was a different matter. He hadn't lost his skills. Using a bow or swinging a blade came naturally to him. Loup later found that alchemy, enchanting, and smiting were also tasks he could perform without a second thought. But as for anything related to his identity or past, Loup had simply forgotten it.

He pieced together what he could based on the Greybeard's knowledge of him. He learned his name was Loup and that he was the Dragonborn, Hero of Skyrim who defeated Alduin to prevent the end of the world. A fanciful tale in Loup's opinion, but the Greybeards were convinced it was true. It was hard to argue with them, especially when they urged Loup to speak with their fifth member once he was well enough. An encounter dragon cemented the story of Loup the Dragonborn, even though Loup still thought it was a bit wild.

Arngeir had said that his memory would return in time, but it had already been a year, and so far, nothing had returned to him. Once his injuries had healed completely, Loup decided to wander across Skyrim to see if he could remember himself.

And wander across Skyrim he did, and even a bit further. Somehow he got caught up with a group of vampire hunters called the Dawnguard. The whole debacle was a bit strange, but Loup was rewarded with a very powerful bow for his trouble, which he began to use as his main weapon. After he began wandering some more, Loup found himself battling another Dragonborn, which taking him to Solstheim. Despite meeting a variety of people, no one knew who he was. The only clue he had was a very familiar symbol carved into the side of blacksmith's shop in Ravenrock. The blacksmith wasn't forthcoming about its presence and no one else wanted to talk about it.

Throughout his journey, Loup kept having dreams of an ethereal world, where the sky was like a bright aurora and the people were ghosts that he could touch. It always ended with him yelling at a muscled Nord, begging the warrior to send him home.

Home: it was what he was trying to find. Hopefully he would have one once he made his way to Falkreath.

"Um, Loup?"

Loup was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts. His mind tended to wander when the subject shifted to anything related to his past or identity.

"Sorry, what lad?"

"I asked if you grew up sleeping on the ground."

"I feel like I did, lad," Loup sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "My gut feeling is that should say that I didn't have a bed to sleep in as a kid. But I've already told you that I don't remember much about my past."

"Oh," said Blaise, looking a bit disappointed at Loup's reply. "Why do you call me 'lad'?"

It was another question that Loup felt like he should know the answer, but didn't.

"I think," he began. "I think someone used to call me that a lot. I don't remember having a father, but I guess that it must have been a father-figure or something like that. I wish I could really answer your question, lad, I do. Who knows, maybe my memories will all come rushing back to me tomorrow. Whenever they do, I'll answer your questions, okay?"

"Promise?" Blaise beamed. "You promise?"

"I promise."

He remembered saying that. He had said that before. Suddenly, Loup wasn't out on the tundra in Whiterun hold in the wee hours of the morning, and he wasn't talking to a red-haired Breton boy who barely came up to his chest.

* * *

A smirk across scarred lips. Red hair and a hearty laugh. The smell of hardened leather and sword oil. He was a friend. He was mentor. Loup could feel the hand on his shoulder. He could feel the Nord's pride.

"Should I take that as a promise, lad?"

Friendly faces. They were all laughing, and it echoed around them. It may have smelt like piss and cheap ale, but Loup knew he was happy. It was a celebration. The bartender swept the floor and smiled.

"You promise we'll do this again, Guildmaster?"

A Breton woman. Beautiful face decorated with green paint, hidden behind an orange hood. Her sultry voice was hypnotizing. Loup knew he loved her with all his heart. And she felt the same.

"Promise me, Loup?"

"I promise," he replied. "I'll come home soon."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

7.2.14

Yes, I used the phrase "unrelenting force" on purpose. How else would the Dragonborn shout?

If Loup were a Sim, his traits would be: kleptomaniac, hopeless romantic, athletic, good sense of humor, and hates the outdoors.


End file.
